


Loki and the Cafe

by Lycianthara



Series: Loki and the Priest [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Date Night, Food, French Food, French Language, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, food coma, loki and omc have a weird relationship mang, loki doesnt speak french, so much food, trans loki, translation provided in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycianthara/pseuds/Lycianthara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has a gift for his boy, his devotee. A gift much appreciated, despite the sassy attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loki and the Cafe

When Loki arrived at the squalid apartment of his boy an hour later, he was dressed like a celebrity. His long black hair had been cut and lightened into a dusky blonde. His emerald and golden armor was exchanged for an ivory white dress shirt and black suit jacket, shoes and slacks matching. If it weren't for the determined look on his face, and his slightly pursed lips, a stranger might have thought he was lost. He knocked swiftly, twice, on the thin wooden door. Old paint cracked off and floated on to the dusty floor with the oh so slight force of his fist. When his boy didn’t open the door, he phased in himself. 

Inside the apartment, his boy sat surrounded by all three winter outfits he had, two dresses and a small business ensemble. The one dress, pale green, he had already worn. He did not like it much at all. The other dress, the soft velvet lined with silk, with the twinkling beaded laces that tied up the front, seemed almost foreign from his masculine perspective. Finally, the ensemble was missing the shirt that went with it. Incomplete. Just like it’s owner. 

“Did I or did I not command you to get dressed and be ready when I arrived?” The god’s voice sliced through the air, cutting through his boy’s confusion.

Eyes wide and staring at his god, the boy whispered, “I don’t know what to wear.”

The god raised an eyebrow at his boy, in disbelief and impatience. He picked up the velvet dress, turned it this way and that, examining the quality. His eyes narrowed as he investigated if it was worthy enough to dance across his boy’s skin. 

“This one is fine for now. You’ll need better clothes if I keep buying you dinner.” The god tossed the dress to his boy, gathering up the two other outfits and hanging them in the closet. 

The boy deftly undid the twinkling dark blue threads and slipped the dress up his legs, over his hips, and onto his chest. This dress too had grown looser since his god’s last visit. His hands carefully tugged each arm into the sleeves, the straps fitting snugly over his shoulders. The inside silk was soft on his slightly raw skin, some places still recuperating from the harsh shower. 

Long and pale fingers stretched out to tighten the laces on the chest, the little wolf beads dancing through the air like acrobats. His own doll hands went to the ribbon around the waist. It was usually pre-tied and kept loose, but tonight he wanted it tight. He wanted, as much as he hated it, to accentuate his body’s natural feminine curve. 

His god hummed a trill in response to the tightening of the waist ribbon, the rich and dark royal blue that it was. It was an unexpected move, but he did say he wanted to turn heads. As he finished tying the last loop of the blue laces his boy slipped his feet into dark blue slippers, shaped almost like ballerina flats. 

Finally the young man stood fully dressed and prepared to leave. His face went without makeup, but at least his hair was combed. He even wore a push up bra for the occasion. The god smirked at his boy before briskly setting a pace out of the apartment and down to the car waiting outside. 

“Hurry up would you! We have reservations!” The god called down the hall as he set out for the stairs leading down from the fifth floor. His feet tapped loudly against the stone and concrete, and he hated to think what climbing them several times a day did to his boy’s feet. Luckily, he soon found out just how little climbing the young man did. 

Once the apartment was locked up, the young man tucked his skirt underneath himself and sat on the smooth metal railing, his legs hanging over the stairs. After a soft push he slid quickly down the next landing, repeating the process until the last set of stairs which he simply walked down. The doorman, a wispy college student majoring in English, gave him a wink as he held open the door. As the god brushed past him out the door, the boy rolled his eyes and nodded his thanks to the doorman, who at the last second decided to call out to the pair, “Have a nice date!” 

This made the young man trip as he scrambled into the car while his god held open the door. Of course, a smirk merely crossed his face at his boy’s reaction. He climbed into the cab but a moment later, shutting the door and directing the driver to their destination. The location of their dinner piqued the young man’s brow and he looked perplexed at the deity. The place was rather famous, and certainly out of his price range. How could this wanted-man of a god afford it? Said god simply held a calm expression that seemed to say ‘Don’t worry. I took care of it.’ 

As their driver pulled up the cafe, the young man’s eyes positively lit up. It was gorgeous, in simplest terms. Small white christmas lights were strung across wooden trellises that had rose vines wrapped around them. The building itself was made of faded red brick, all the wood was darkly stained and it glowed with the incandescence of the christmas lights. So enraptured by the way the cafe looked, the young man hadn’t even noticed the car stopped. He only got out after the god tugged lightly at his arm.

“C’mon, we have reservations you know,” the god said to his charge as he lead him from the curb into the front of the cafe. As they stepped over the threshold and were greeted by a maître d' his charge was too bewitched by the different smells and sights to even notice he was being lead to a table. Only once he had been sat down did his mind truly clear. A soft breeze swept past his ear, and he realized they were seated on an exclusive balcony. Alone, with candles lit all around them. The white and gold roses are in full bloom around the edge of the balcony, nearly a perfect pattern of alternating colors. Above them the rest of the city buildings had their lights blazing, and in the sky a single light could be seen. 

“Do you know what star that is?” His god asked lightly, starting a conversation.

“It’s actually the planet Jupiter. Too bright to be any star, and too high to be Polaris,” the charge replied wistfully.

A waiter arrived and in perfect French asked, “Voulez-vous pour je parle en francais-” before continuing in English “-or would you like me to speak English?” His English had a heavy accent compared to his French. 

The god replied English before his charge could speak and asked to start with drinks and bread first. A fine wine was brought for the god, and soda in a wine glass brought for his boy. Warm baguette sliced finely alongside soft goat cheese was placed on the table early, with the menus.

After the waiter left, the young man posed a question to his god, “Isn’t bread and cheese supposed to be served between the entree and dessert?”

The god laughed into his wine glass, nearly choking as he drank. He stuttered a response, “Ho-How did you figure that?”

The boy deadpanned and in his best French said, “Toutes de mes profs etudie au Paris pour au moins deux ans.” In English, he would have said “All my teachers studied in Paris for at least two years.”

His god held up his wine glass and the young man reciprocated, “Aux profs!” His god repeated the phrase.

The meal continued as they consumed the early bread and cheese, perusing the menu. The charge’s eyes softened upon seeing that this cafe sold ratatouille inside crepes, and not just ratatouille but also piperade in crepes. His eyes glistened, such a meal would be light on his stomach and old injuries, and taste richly as well. His god noticed and smiled softly behind his menu. If he had known that simply taking his boy out for dinner would make him this happy, he would have done so on the day of their deal. Then, a thought struck him. “When was the last time you ate?” He posed the question worriedly at his charge.

The boy paused, thinking. “Maybe yesterday morning? Or the evening before it. I can’t remember.” The god wiped his hands across his face before settling them against one another in front of his mouth. He had no response to that. What sort of god was he, allowing his one and only devotee to go hungry? He simply shook his head and returned to the menu, unsure of what he wished to eat. 

The waiter was swift in his return and the god’s boy was quick to say what we wished. 

“Pour l’entre je voudrais la piperade avec deux oeufs, mais dans un crepe. Apres l'entre, nous voudrions plus de baguette et fromage de chèvre s’il vous plait.” The waiter was bit stunned, as he had thought they only spoke English but he recovered quickly, turning to the god. 

“Et vous monsieur? Pour l’entre, qu’est ce-que vous voudriez?” 

The god was at a loss, because he did not speak French. He glared at his boy for making it seem as though he did, not only that, but he was also not ready to order. Facing the challenge, his boy spoke up. 

“Il voudrait le cassoulet s’il vous plait. Si ce n’est pas un probleme, puis-je demander qu’il a de l’eau après que ce verre? Merci beaucoup.”

The glare did not lighten in its intensity, if anything it deepened as the waiter took their menus.

“What did you say?” the words came out harsh and almost cold.

“You’re going to have the cassoulet, it’s good for winter. I’m having the piperade, good for winter and soft on stomachs, with two eggs in a crepe. A lighter meal. I also ordered more baguette and goat cheese for after. And I said to give you water after you finish that glass.”

“Why do you seem to think I should stop drinking the wine?”

“Because I don’t know how your tolerance for alcohol is, and I don’t want to deal with you if you’re hungover. I hardly want to deal with you when you're sober.”

The god scoffed and continued to drink from his fourth glass of wine. “Whatever you say dear.”

The conversation dwindled after that, each half of the pair sipping their drink of choice and crunching on bread and cheese served too early.

The entrees arrived together, steaming in their respective pots. While the young man had asked for his in a crepe, it arrived instead in a small pot.

“Excusez-moi mademoiselle, mais le chef de crêpe parti pour ce soir. Nous sommes tres desole. Est-ce que le pot bien?”

“Euh, oui. Avez-vous le bois a manger?”

“Oui, un minuit s’il vous plait.”

The waiter handed each man his pot of hearty winter soup and left quickly. The god gazed at his charge’s pot, confused. “I thought you asked for a crepe?”

“I did. But the crepe chef left already tonight. They’re very sorry, and the waiter went to get my chopsticks-” The waiter arrived, giving him the chopsticks, “-Ah, merci monsieur!” He broke open the chopsticks and began fishing out the egg and ham, his god slowly sipping at his own soup. Once the young man had finished what he was chewing he motioned to his god’s pot. “Try spearing the roasted potatoes and the meats first, the broth is easier to get after that.” The god huffed, but did as his boy said anyway, finding it much easier to eat his weird soup.

The meal progressed yet again in silence, the only sounds were of the pair eating and the soft clink of ice in their glasses.

The god finished his meal first, while his mortal was still finishing up his vegetables. While his boy finished off his pot he gazed up at the sky, at the single lasting light of Saturn. He thought about how far away everything seemed. How far away even his old home seemed. Asgard. The great shining realm of the almighty Aesir.

A small soft hand caressed his arm that was leaning on the table. Taking his boy’s hand in his own, he held on. Not just to his boy, but to the idea that someone out there still cared for him, despite his grievous mistakes.

“Hey, wumplebuffis. Cheer up! You’re eating great food on a beautiful balcony, overlooking a beautiful city. You’re effectively immortal, you have magic powers, you can shapeshift. And you pretty much have an indentured servant. Forget that last part. You have a devotee who you're sharing great food with.”

“There is no way wumplebuffis is a real word.”

“It is now. Wumplebuffis.”

The god sighed at the childish antics and waved over the waiter, “Could you please bring out two small chocolate yogurts? Thank you.” The waiter left swiftly to deliver the order.

“I hope you like yogurt, heh.” The god chuckled.

“I like yogurt, it’s good for stomachs. Just help me out with this goat cheese. No way will I be able to finish off the bread. Actually wait..” The boy sliced a thick piece of bread from the quarter baguette remaining, and dunked it into the remaining broth of his soup, scraping the pepper flakes from the bottom of the pot. His stomach demanded he continue, so he did, nearly cleaning his pot with the slices of bread.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, no fighting, but no supreme revelations either. The god took his boy home in the same car that brought them. Eventually having to carry his boy up the stairs to his apartment because he had fallen asleep on his god’s shoulder during the ride home.

The deity lay his charge gently on the bed, conjuring a thick blanket of the finest Asgardian material to cover him. 

“Good night, my little prince.”


End file.
